In Portugal each summer night is festa night.
The village square awash with sound and light
They say the band will start at ten.
I won't fall for that joke again.
I walked in time to be there by midnight.

In Portugal each summer day is burning day.
The heat, the drought, the careless all hold sway.
Upon the hill beside the lake
We see the fire planes from daybreak
Scoop water up to hold the flames at bay.

In Portugal the town centre was still day-bright.
The square was crammed but not a happy sight.
Three ambulances shared the square
With fire trucks and more to spare.
The hillside to the north had caught alight.

The wind blew west, the houses safe by happenchance.
That lives were safe outweighed the cancelled dance.
I left to walk back to my spouse,
I saw the image of my house,
And thanked the gods the fire missed by chance.